


Point Break

by suspiciousflashlight



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Karasuno Third-Years, M/M, Romantic Comedy, as if I ever write anything else??? please, galileo slander, the mildest stupidest and most poorly executed heist of all time, too little common sense, too much babysitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28363797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspiciousflashlight/pseuds/suspiciousflashlight
Summary: If someone had asked Daichi yesterday how he planned to spend his Monday lunch period, he probably would have answered "eating my lunch" or "thinking about volleyball" or "eating my lunch while thinking about volleyball." He would not have answered "sneaking into the staff room to hack into my physics teacher's email so I can delete the embarrassing video my best friend accidentally submitted in place of our projectile motion assignment"—and yet somehow, to his profound horror, here he is, slandering the father of modern physics to his teacher's face as he stalls desperately for time.
Relationships: Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 40
Kudos: 106





	Point Break

**Author's Note:**

> edit: now with [amazing art](https://interstellarhitchhiker.tumblr.com/post/639232138643963904) of the very silly projector scene by [interstellarhitchhiker](https://interstellarhitchhiker.tumblr.com/)!!! THANK YOU!!!
> 
> thank you sally for your hilarious comments, actual beta work, and in-depth babysitting research!!! MY HERO AS ALWAYS

**THE VICTIM**

Sawamura Daichi is responsible, mature, driven, serious, stoic, even austere. That’s what people say, anyway. _You have the soul of an old man_ , say his close friends (mostly Suga). _Lighten up a little once in a while_ , say his close friends (mostly Suga). _Please stop looking at me like you’re going to give me detention,_ say his close friends (mostly Asahi). Personally, Daichi thinks this is all grossly exaggerated. He’s just a normal teenager. A teenager saddled with the duty of keeping his rowdy underclassmen on the volleyball team in line. A teenager who spent several months occupying the terrifying dual roles of team captain and team coach. A teenager often stuck babysitting his four kid siblings for his exhausted stepmother and away-on-business father. A teenager who never misses practices and never gets a grade below eighty-five percent and always washes his dishes as soon as he’s used them—

Okay, so maybe Daichi can be a little bit uptight at times. A _little_ bit. Not very much.

**THE CONFESSION—I**

When Emiko’s phone starts to buzz on Monday morning, Daichi is eating rice with natto and a fried egg, watching his stepmother try to put his five-year-old stepsister’s hair in pigtails as she races around the kitchen, and wondering if there’s a polite way to block Kuroo’s number so Daichi can stop getting unsolicited updates on his overactive psychological life.

( **Kuroo:** had a dream I was a shrimp. like a prawn not a brine shrimp. wore a little shrimp uniform. tried to get to school but fell thru a sewer grate. what do u think that means

 **Daichi:** I am BEGGING you to stop texting me this shit)

“That’s your phone, Emiko-san,” Daichi says, grabbing Mei around the waist as she races past so he can hold her still.

Emiko mutters a distracted _thank you_ and snaps Mei’s hair elastic into place (Daichi tactfully does not point out that Mei’s pigtails are lopsided; he figures he can probably fix them later, when Emiko’s back is turned). Emiko tears through the stack of magazines on the table until her frantic fingers grasp her phone. She puts it to her ear and says, “Hello? Hello? Hello-o-o-o?” then holds it out in front of her and stares at it in confusion. “It’s not mine, Daichi. Must be yours.”

His backpack is sitting on the floor beside him; he digs his own phone out, flips it open, and sees Suga’s name flashing across the screen. Weird. Suga never calls him in the morning; he has too much trouble making it out of bed. Maybe he’s sick? Yikes. The closer Spring Nationals get, the more Daichi is plagued by stress dreams about his teammates wiping out on icy sidewalks or catching the flu (he has a terrifying and highly improbable recurring nightmare in which Kageyama breaks his collarbone to get out of writing a Japanese test and Tsukishima vows to sit out Nationals with him in brotherly solidarity). The team can’t afford to have anyone in the club miss Nationals, but they (okay, Daichi in particular) especially can’t afford to lose Suga.

Suga doesn’t even give him a chance to say hello. “Daichi, I did something stupid, like something really, totally, unbelievably stupid—”

“Oh,” says Daichi, instantly alarmed, “uh—are you okay? What happened?”

Suga laughs, not his normal laugh, but his nervous laugh, all tense and strung-out. “Oh, _I’m_ okay, but—I was submitting our assignment—oh my God, I’m so stupid, I can’t believe how _stupid_ I am—I was submitting our assignment, and it was right there on my phone, and I’d totally forgotten we’d filmed it, it was just the first video file that came up, and I just _submitted it_ , like an _idiot_ —”

“The—what? The video file? What are you talking about?”

“The video file, the stupid video file for our stupid assignment! We were supposed to submit the video of the experiment along with our calculations—and I… I submitted… the wrong file…”

“Oh,” Daichi says again, comprehension dawning slowly and threateningly, like some kind of toxic waste spill seeping through the soil towards the groundwater. The natto he just ate churns in his stomach, which seems to be in the process of industriously turning itself inside out. “You mean…”

“Yeah,” says Suga.

“Oh no,” says Daichi.

“Yep,” says Suga.

“So the video you submitted…” Daichi begins, and finds himself unable to finish. The situation is somehow too horrifying to put into words.

“That’s right,” says Suga. “Daichi, I’m really, _really_ sorry—I wasn’t thinking—”

“It’s fine,” Daichi says automatically.

In fact, it is not fine. It is not _remotely_ fine. It is possibly the most un-fine thing that has ever happened to Daichi in his life.

**THE SCENE OF THE CRIME**

“You’re sure you don’t mind? I know I said I’d be home, but… well, you know your grandfather, if I don’t drag him to the doctor myself…” Emiko is already buttoning up her coat, her fingers smoothing the black wool down anxiously, brushing off some invisible speck of dust.

“It’s fine,” Daichi assures his stepmom. It’s not really fine, because Suga is supposed to be here in a few minutes to work on their science project, and Emiko _promised_ she’d be home today to look after the kids so Daichi and Suga could actually get their work done, but Daichi’s grandpa just fell down the stairs at his house (again) and is being difficult about it (again), and Emiko is radiating stress. Daichi can’t exactly say no.

“I should only be a few hours—there are leftovers in the fridge—or you can order something, do you want to order something? I have some cash—oh, where did I put it—”

“Leftovers are fine,” says Daichi. “Go on, before he has a chance to fall down the stairs again.”

Emiko smiles at him and reaches over to smooth his hair. “Ah, what would I do without you?” _I don’t know, maybe look after your kids yourself_ , Daichi thinks, and is immediately wracked with guilt for thinking it. “Call if you need anything, okay? I’ll have my phone on. And say hi to Koushi!”

“I will,” Daichi promises. He watches Emiko hurry out the door, a gust of snowflakes swirling in before she closes it behind her. Then he glances into the living room: Sosuke is reading, Mei is smashing two of Sosuke’s transformers together, and the twins are passed out on the couch. Okay, good. He probably has fifteen minutes before someone ends up in tears. That might even give him time to finish cleaning the kitchen.

Five minutes later, Daichi answers the door to Suga, who is bundled up like an Antarctic explorer against Miyagi’s mild December chill. Snow whips around him, coming down thick enough that Daichi can barely make out the house across the street. He hopes the roads are okay for Emiko.

“Hello!” says Suga, tugging his scarf down to free his mouth. He’s got a big smile on, crinkling his eyes at the corners. The smile immediately fades when he sees Yumi slung over Daichi’s hip, sniffling all sorts of fluids into Daichi’s shirt to the melodious soundtrack of Haru and Mei both howling at the top of their lungs in the living room. Sosuke hovers behind Daichi unhappily, his hands pressed tight over his ears.

“Oh dear,” says Suga. “What’s the situation?”

“Yumi’s upset because she doesn’t like her shirt,” says Daichi. “This shirt. Which is her favourite shirt. Which she picked out herself this morning.”

“Ah, well, we’ve all been there,” Suga says sympathetically. “And the rest of them?”

“Mei’s crying because she broke Sosuke’s transformer, and Haru is also crying because Mei broke Sosuke’s transformer…”

“Naturally.” Suga starts the long process of stripping out of his winter layers. Snow has settled around his hair where his hat didn’t provide protection, and on his eyelashes, melting down his cold-flushed cheeks in the heat of Daichi’s front hall. Daichi tries not to stare. “What about you, Sosuke? You seem to be taking this remarkably well.”

“I don’t _care_ ,” whines Sosuke, retreating towards the stairs. “I don’t even like Transformers!”

“He just wants to read,” says Daichi.

“I see.” Suga shakes the last of the snow out of his hair and grabs his usual slippers. “Daichi, maybe I’m losing it, but I seem to have a very distinct memory of you telling me yesterday that Emiko-san had _promised_ she’d be home to watch the kids…”

Daichi sighs. “Yeah, but my grandpa fell again. It was an emergency.”

“Mm hm…”

“What?”

“Nothing! I didn’t say anything—”

“You said _mm hm._ Like—like _mm hm_.”

“Well, this just seems to happen to you a lot…”

It does. There are advantages to being the eldest child by an eleven-year gap, like not having your entire wardrobe consist of your siblings’ ill-fitting hand-me-downs, but there are some pretty significant disadvantages too. Still, he wants to help out. He knows how tired Emiko is. “It’s not as bad when my dad’s home,” Daichi says defensively.

“Right. That must be nice. One week off every month—”

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Daichi says. He tries not to get annoyed. He _isn’t_ annoyed. Well, he kind of is, but mostly it’s just that Haru and Mei’s screaming is starting to grate on his nerves.

“Oh, _I_ don’t mind,” says Suga, and he reaches out to take Yumi from Daichi, even though she’s still snotty and inexplicably sticky. Suga tickles her sides until she squirms and giggles, and Daichi’s annoyance evaporates. He doesn’t think he’s ever managed to stay genuinely ticked off at Suga for more than thirty seconds at a time, not even in second year when Suga tied his shoelaces together as a joke and Daichi fell right on his face in front of their upperclassmen. “I like your family. _My_ horrible little brother dedicates himself to pretending I don’t exist. But don’t you ever want some time to yourself?”

“I get time to myself,” Daichi insists. “When I do my homework, or—”

Suga just looks at him.

“We’d better deal with the kids,” says Daichi.

Daichi knows from past experience that when the twins and Mei all get going at once, it can take upwards of half an hour to calm everyone down. His siblings create a sort of positive feedback loop, an intricate network of interpersonal constants and variables just as complex as the physics calculations he and Suga are meant to be doing for their project today. If Haru cries when he and Yumi are playing with their kitchen set, Yumi will also cry (if Yumi is drawing, however, she seems to gain some resilience); if Yumi cries for any reason whatsoever, Haru will also cry; if it’s raining out, the chances of Yumi crying over her outfit increase by a dramatic 40%; if Mei cries, Yumi will cry, which means Haru will cry; if the twins cry and Mei is within twenty feet, Mei will also cry, because she thinks she’s going to get in trouble (which, to be fair, she usually is); if the twins are resistant to naptime, Haru’s tantrum proclivity goes up by 10% per half-hour past naptime, and Yumi’s by 18% per forty minutes; if bathtime is approaching, Mei will pitch a fit over absolutely anything (yesterday: because Haru “kept looking at her”); if Sosuke helps Mei beat the hard parts on her _Hamtaro_ game, she cries unless he lets her put her fingers over his on the Gameboy buttons so she can “play” too; if Sosuke does let Mei “help” find the Hamuchans, they argue about who really beat the level and she cries anyway; if Daichi mixes up the Hamuchans’ names, everyone loses it; and if Daichi pauses the VHS 0.3 seconds before the _Hamtaro_ credits end on the same damn episode they’ve all seen at least a billion times by now, well, honestly, it’s not even worth contemplating.

(If you had asked Daichi a couple of years ago to anticipate the biggest source of drama in his life at age eighteen, he might have said _volleyball nationals_ or _university entrance exams_ or even _sometimes I think my best friend is really pretty, is that normal?_ ; he would not have said _an early-2000s kid’s anime about talking hamsters_ , but here he is.)

But Suga is Daichi’s secret weapon, his own personal version of Hinata and Kageyama’s freak quick. His step-siblings _adore_ Suga (well, Daichi can’t blame them). Daichi feels a sense of dutiful affection for the kids and has developed a knack for effective toddler interactions out of necessity, but Suga just has a particular brand of natural charisma that’s like little-kid catnip (“It’s because you act like such a kid yourself. They recognize one of their own,” Daichi tells him sometimes; “Don’t be _mean_ ,” Suga says, and punches him in the stomach hard enough to send Daichi into an out-of-body experience).

“Hello! What’s going on here?” Suga says brightly as he carries Yumi into the living room and sets her down on the floor. “I hear there’s a Transformer emergency? Good thing I’m a qualified Transformer surgeon. Let me take a look!”

Mei immediately stops crying (Daichi is _not_ bitter about the incredible power Suga wields, nope, not at all) and starts bouncing around Suga, unhelpfully assisting him in jamming the plastic pieces back together while she launches into a meandering and extremely damning story about how Daichi didn’t cut her apple slices properly yesterday. Yumi is now trying to put her butterfly clips in Suga’s hair, tugging hard enough to make Suga wince, although he endures gamely. Daichi suspects Suga was lying out his ass about liking Daichi’s family, but he appreciates the effort at politeness, and he _particularly_ appreciates Suga distracting Mei and Yumi so Daichi can work on calming down Haru, which is the kind job that requires undivided attention and the diplomacy of a veteran politician.

It takes them another forty minutes before they can actually start working on their science project. First, Mei has to tell Suga about the dead rat she saw on the way to the park yesterday, and then she has to tell the story again to Daichi (“I know, Meichan, I was with you, remember?” Daichi says wearily), and then Yumi wants Daichi to draw a picture of a cat so she can colour it in, and then Haru wants a picture of a cat too (“No! Don’t want it!” he protests when Daichi tries to hand it to him, followed by, “Give it, give it!” when Daichi tries to put the drawing away), and then Mei has to show Suga the new outfit she bought in her _Hamtaro_ game, and then Sosuke needs help with his vocabulary words, and then Yumi wants to play mahjong (“Excuse me? Your _three-year-old sister_ can play _mahjong?_ ” Suga says in disbelief; “In a way,” says Daichi, as Yumi picks up a handful of pieces and throws them across the living room), and then Haru wants a yogurt cup (“Don’t want it!” he yells when Daichi hands it to him, and promptly dumps it down Yumi’s pants), and then all four of them want Daichi and Suga to chase them around the living room until, thank God, the twins conk out on the couch, Sosuke falls asleep on the floor with his book on his face, and Daichi puts on _Hamtaro_ for Mei, praying the volume is low enough not to wake the others.

“Daichi, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but these days there are these incredible machines called _DVD players_ ,” Suga says as he watches Daichi rewind the VHS while Mei stares raptly at the staticky video flashing by backwards on the TV screen.

“What’s the point, when all they ever want to watch are the same three episodes of a show from ten years ago?” says Daichi, rolling his eyes. “Besides, Emiko-san uses the VCR to tape _Tokyo Detective Duo_. Meichan, come get me when it’s done, okay? Don’t try to rewind it yourself.”

“‘Kay,” says Mei, clearly no longer paying him any attention. Daichi sighs, and mentally prepares for another tantrum in twenty minutes when she breaks the tape by jamming all the buttons, but hey, twenty minutes is twenty minutes.

“Do you think I could get out of this assignment if I said I was a pacifist?” Daichi asks a few minutes later. He’s helping Suga set up the small catapult they built after school on Wednesday, or at least he’s standing beside Suga and eating chips while Suga sets up the catapult by himself, which is close enough. “A catapult is kind of a weapon, right?”

“If you can figure out a way to kill someone with a three-gram ping-pong ball launched via a kitchen elastic, you can probably get an exemption from third-year physics, and also a pass to the guidance counsellor’s office,” says Suga. “What have you got against our poor little catapult? Look, you’ve hurt its feelings.”

“ _You’ve_ hurt its feelings by setting it up wrong,” says Daichi, nudging Suga out of the way to slip the elastic into place properly. Suga leans on Daichi’s shoulder to supervise, and Daichi’s heart gives a funny lurch, like he just missed a step going down the stairs. He clears his throat and tries to focus. “I just think this is a stupid experiment. What does Mori-sensei expect us to find out? That Galileo was wrong about projectile motion after all?”

“You say that every time we do a physics project,” says Suga, rolling his eyes. “It’s called _experiential learning_ , you big—oh! Wow! Has it been twenty minutes already?”

“Oh my God…” Daichi spends a moment contemplating the kitchen ceiling, praying for divine intercession, or at least for a little tiny bit of Emiko’s seemingly infinite patience. There is no measurable result. When he looks down again, Mei is still in the kitchen, industriously pushing the kitchen stool across the floor to the counter so she can climb up to join them. He draws on his finely honed five-year-old logic in a last-ditch effort to banish her for another fifteen minutes (even ten, he’d take ten, even _five_ ). “Meichan, why don’t you go back into the living room? Hamtaro’s going to be sad if you’re not there to watch him.”

Mei stares at Daichi. Her expression suggests she has serious concerns about his intelligence. “No he won’t. Hamtaro isn’t _real_ , niichan. _Duh_ ,” she says scornfully. Then she turns to Suga and says, “Are you married?”

Suga laughs. “Nope. My mom says I’m not allowed to get married unless I pass all my exams first. Isn’t that so unfair?”

“You have a mom?” Mei squints at him suspiciously. “Like an alive mom? Is she really old? Is she like twenty-two?”

“Somewhere around that, yeah,” says Suga, miraculously straight-faced.

“My mom’s twenty-two,” Mei informs him.

“Oh! Um… really? That’s…” Suga glances sideways at Daichi, clearly concerned by the unexpected revelation that Daichi’s stepmother is only three years older than him, and Daichi sighs. It’s true that Emiko looks pretty young, but…

“Your mom is _forty_ -two, Meichan.”

“His mom’s dead,” Mei tells Suga, pointing at Daichi. “‘Cause he's so old.”

For reasons known only to herself, Mei is obsessed with telling people this. She’s told it to her preschool teacher, the dentist, their neighbours, her friends’ parents, the guy who works at the fish counter in the market; Daichi has overheard her self-importantly explaining it to the twins several times too. Daichi barely remembers his mom, so it doesn’t really bother him—but whenever Mei brings it up, Emiko looks mortified and falls over herself apologizing. Daichi wonders idly how hard he would have to slam his head against the counter to render himself unconscious. A concussion would serve the dual functions of getting him out of his physics assignment _and_ freeing him from babysitting duty for a while. It sounds pretty appealing right now.

“Meichan, don’t you think you’ll make Daichi sad if you talk about stuff like that? Sometimes it’s nice to think about other people’s feelings,” Suga says.

Mei doesn’t dignify this bit of nonsense with a response. The look she gives Suga indicates very clearly her thoughts on Daichi’s capacity for complex emotions. “Have you ever been on an airplane? My brothers went on an airplane once. But not me, ‘cause I was a baby. Want to see me do a cartwheel? Hey, can I play with that?”

Daichi has the prescience to slide the catapult beyond the reach of her grasping fingers before she can pull it down off the counter and smash it to bits. They _definitely_ should have done this at Suga’s house.

The experiment itself is boring, but simple. All they have to do is launch a ping-pong ball across the counter and film it a couple of times (they use Suga’s phone; the camera on Daichi’s phone is barely functional) so they can break down its trajectory frame-by-frame and do a bunch of pointless calculations. In class, Mori-sensei told them the whole experiment ought to take less than fifteen minutes. With Mei’s unsolicited assistance, they manage to complete it in thirty-five.

(The hardest part is getting Mei to shut up for long enough to film. They watch their latest effort on Suga’s phone, the ping-pong ball arcing across the counter to the sound of Mei in the background demanding, “Niichan, what happens if I put my hand down the sink? Will a fish bite me? Niichan? Can I have a drink? Can I have an apple? Niichan, how come your shirt is so ugly? Did you know birds can think? Niichan, what happens to you when you die? Is it true that eating too many plums makes you turn purple? Niichan? Is the prime minister real?”

“Maybe I can just turn the sound off before I submit the video to Mori-sensei,” Suga suggests tactfully.)

Outside, the snow is still coming down hard. Miyagi doesn’t normally get this much at once; Emiko must be either still stuck at the hospital or else stuck in traffic. Wonderful. But Daichi does manage to con Mei into doing her homework with Suga, so the three of them kneel at the table and work in blessed quasi-silence for a while, Suga and Daichi doing their calculations while Mei colours in a map of Japan and mutters unintelligibly to herself.

Daichi is a diligent student. He studies for his tests. He submits his assignments on time. He pays attention in class and raises his hand when he knows the answer to a question. That being said, projectile motion calculations are really boring. He ends up watching Suga instead: the way his hair keeps falling into his face, the way he chews on his bottom lip when he’s thinking, the way he hunches over his notebook. His fingers wrapped around his mechanical pencil. His neat handwriting. His collarbone just barely peeking out from under the neck of his sweater. He looks really nice today. Daichi thinks about saying that. _You look really nice today_. And Suga will laugh and say _oh, Daichi, what’s this—do you think if you flatter me, I’ll do your half of the assignment for you?_

Suga glances up from his notebook and meets Daichi’s gaze. He smiles. Daichi smiles back. His face feels warm, but in a good way, like he’s sitting right in front of a fire, the heat making his skin sort of tingly.

“Why are you guys staring at each other?” demands Mei.

Suga ducks his head, running a hand distractedly through his hair, twirling his pencil. He’s pink across the cheeks, and Daichi strongly suspects he is too, but he tries to cover the awkwardness of the moment by clearing his throat and saying pointedly, “Meichan, we’re having quiet time right now.”

“How come you talked, then?”

“Because—because you talked first, so I—”

To Daichi’s profound indignation, Mei puts a finger to her lips and shushes him. Then there’s a _thud_ from the living room, followed by the ominous skittering of tiny footsteps tearing down the hall. The twins race into the kitchen—Yumi pushes Haru over—Haru goes down like a bowling pin and immediately starts howling—and Daichi gives up.

Emiko calls about an hour later. Daichi is holding a giggling Haru upside while Yumi tries to make Daichi put on her pink bear dressing gown; Suga is showing an enraptured Sosuke and Mei how to fold a thousand-yen bill into a little t-shirt. Emiko sounds sheepish and deeply apologetic, and Daichi’s hopes of getting just a tiny bit of time on his own with Suga without his siblings demanding piggy-back rides are dashed against the unforgiving rocks of Miyagi’s overloaded healthcare system. “I’m sorry, we’re still waiting to see a doctor,” Emiko tells him. “I’m really sorry. Just for a few more hours? I’ll be home as soon as I can. Do you have some money? Why don’t you and Koushi order food?”

Asahi gets test anxiety sometimes— _I look at the questions and I think oh my God, I have to answer all of these? And, um, I just sort of panic_ , he says. Daichi thinks he finally understands how Asahi feels. Another few hours in charge of his siblings yawn before him, an abyssal prolongation he somehow has to survive, and he thinks _oh my God, I can’t do it, I’m not going to make it_. Yes, he loves his siblings, but holy shit, he needs a nap. Still, he doesn’t want to worry Emiko, who is already stressed out and guilty. “That’s fine,” says Daichi, “don’t worry about—no, Yumi, that’s not going to fit me, I’m serious—sorry, don’t worry about it. Is ojiisan doing alright?”

“Oh, yes, just a sprained wrist, or it could be fractured, hopefully they’ll do an X-ray—oh, is that—? I’m sorry, I have to go—you’ll call if you need anything?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” says Daichi. Haru starts to squirm, and Daichi nearly drops him right on his head. “Shit—um, I mean, shoot—don’t worry, everything’s fine here. Bye.”

“Still at the hospital?” Suga asks. He rescues his thousand-yen bill from Mei, who is trying to imitate Suga’s folds by crumpling the whole thing into a ball and twisting it up.

“Yeah,” Daichi says glumly. “You don’t have to stay, if you don’t—Yumi, seriously, stop, your robe is too small for me—see?” He lets her put the sleeve over his hand and tugs it up his forearm until the fabric stretches taut. “Too small. Sorry, kiddo.”

“You could put the hood on,” Suga suggests, radiating innocent, earnest helpfulness.

“Bear! Bear! Bear!” Yumi agrees; Mei gets on board too, jumping up and down and screaming “BEAR! BEAR! BEAR!” Haru struggles and kicks Daichi in the sternum. Daichi wonders if he should volunteer his family for Karasuno’s health education program. If every student in the school spent a couple hours looking after his siblings, none of them would dare to have sex until they were well into their forties.

He glowers at Suga, but he sets Haru down and squats so that Yumi can put the hood of her robe over his head. It has fluffy pink bear ears and a bland, cartoonish bear face. Suga sniggers, and Daichi catches the telltale _click_ of the shutter sound on Suga’s phone.

“It looks good, actually. Definitely your colour,” says Suga.

“I hate you,” Daichi mutters.

“Aw, that’s not a very nice thing to say. Meichan, your big brother’s being mean to me,” says Suga, finally showing his hand as a heartless and ice-cold sadist.

“No no no—Meichan, don’t— _oof_ —Meichan, we don’t hit, okay— _ow_ —”

“Hey, if you’re already wearing the robe, you should take your shirt off too,” Suga suggests, grinning.

“Huh? Why?”

“Because,” says Suga, and interrupts himself by snorting with laughter. “Because then”— _snort_ —“because then you’d be”— _snort_ —“you’d be _bear-chested_ —”

“Hilarious,” says Daichi, rolling his eyes, but actually it kind of is, watching Suga laugh so hard at his own stupid joke that he can’t even finish telling it. He experiences a sudden and unexpected surge of fondness, which is all he can later think to explain the momentary lapse in judgment that occurs next.

“Hamuchan!” shrieks Yumi, pointing at the hood excitedly.

“What? No, Yumi, it’s supposed to be a bear, not a hamster—”

“Hamuchan!” yells Haru.

Mei, never one to be left out, joins in too, shouting, “Let’s do the dance! Niichan, do the dance!” She tugs at Daichi’s arm, making her best effort to yank it right out of his shoulder socket.

“Stop, stop—uh, let’s not—let’s not do it right now, okay?” He can feel his face heating up, probably going the same fluorescent pink as the synthetic fuzz of the robe over his head. Daichi is not much of a dancer, but yes, okay, he sometimes consents to do the little dance from the end of the _Hamtaro_ credits with his youngest siblings. However—and this is very important—he absolutely only does it _when no one else is home_. Not Emiko. Not his dad. And _definitely_ not Suga, who is now looking at him with extreme interest.

“You too!” shouts Mei, pointing at Suga.

“Sorry, Meichan, I don’t know the dance,” says Suga, and he gives Daichi a slow, sly smile that makes Daichi simultaneously very afraid and very—something else. “Why don’t you and your big brother show me? Here, I’ll even take a video, so I can practice at home.”

“You really don’t need to take a video,” says Daichi.

“Oh, I think I really do. How else am I supposed to learn?”

And this is how Suga comes to have a one-minute video on his phone of Daichi, wearing his little sister’s bathrobe on his head, doing the dance from the end of the _Hamtaro_ credits with his three youngest siblings. It’s kind of endearing, in a profoundly mortifying sort of way—the kids are giggling, Suga is howling with laughter like some kind of hysterical hyena until even Daichi can’t help but crack up, and Sosuke is in the background, his hands pressed over his face, muttering, “You guys are so _embarrassing…_ ”

“You can’t show that to _anyone_ ,” Daichi tells Suga later, when everyone has finally calmed down. The part of him that’s a total control freak itches to grab Suga’s phone and delete the video himself. He can’t believe he let himself get talked into that… “Ever. I’m serious. Not even Asahi.”

“Cross my heart,” Suga promises, tracing an X over his chest.

**THE CONFESSION—II**

“It is _not_ fine!” Suga says hotly. The connection crackles with static as he sucks in a deep breath. He sounds like he’s either about to crack up or start bawling, or maybe both at once, Daichi can’t tell. “Don’t say it’s fine! I know it’s not! I really messed up! Would you please just stop being so mature for a second and get mad at me for once?”

“I’m not mad,” Daichi insists. He’s not. First of all, it’s physiologically impossible for him to get mad at Suga, and second of all, he’s too busy going numb with a heady combination of shock and blind panic to get angry.

“Gah! You’re so annoying!” This seems a bit unfair, but before Daichi has a chance to say so, Suga goes on, “Okay, _fine_ , you jerk. Listen, I have a plan. I’m going to fix this. I promise. Can you meet me at school a little early?”

“Who was that? Is everything okay?” Emiko asks when Daichi gets off the phone. Now that Mei’s hair has been successfully pig-tailed, Emiko has moved on to trying to get the twins dressed as they giggle and run naked around the table. “You look a little pale…”

“It’s fine,” says Daichi. He’s said those words so many times lately that they’re getting semantically unstable, abstracting into some kind of personal catchphrase without any real meaning. “Just a school thing. Um. I have to go in a little early.”

“Ah, you’re such a good student,” Emiko sighs, looking proud. “Always working so hard.”

**THE CONSPIRATORS**

“What’s Asahi doing after high school?” Daichi’s dad asks at dinner. This is at the end of August, right before prelims, when Daichi is already starting to get jittery with nerves, and the sun is out late, meaning his siblings are on the third month of their annual campaign to extend bedtime to 10:00 p.m. Daichi feels kind of bad for his parents, honestly. All of their kids are disasters right now.

“I don’t know,” says Daichi. He doesn’t think Asahi knows either. Graduation is still months away, but it looms over all his third-year friends. They’ve been avoiding the topic.

“What about that nice girl? What’s her name?”

Oh God, not this again. “Kiyoko,” says Daichi, staring fixedly down at the vegetable remnants on his plate. “I don’t know what she’s doing either.”

“She’s a very nice girl,” his dad repeats encouragingly. “Very pretty. Don’t you think she’s very pretty, Emiko?”

“Ew,” says Daichi’s step-brother Sosuke, whose worldview has the delightful simplicity that comes along with being a seven-year-old boy. He glances up just long enough to make a disgusted face at Daichi before he returns to staring at his lap, where he is not-very-subtly reading a book under the table.

“Mind you, Yui’s a very nice girl too,” says his dad. “And you two have been friends for so long…”

“Oh, don’t pester him. Kids these days don’t start dating until university, you know,” says Emiko, earning Daichi’s eternal gratitude. The twins are sprawled on the floor beside her, miraculously quiet for once, diligently scrawling outside the lines in their colouring books in bright, waxy crayon strokes. Emiko turns her attention on Mei instead, who is sitting beside Sosuke at the table, looking suspiciously innocent. “Meichan, eat your vegetables, please. I can see you hiding them under your plate. Look at your big brother, he’s eating all of his vegetables—don’t you want to get strong like him?” She offers Daichi a tired smile. “What about Koushi? He’s in your class, isn’t he? So is he going to university too?”

“Uh, yeah,” says Daichi. He knows Emiko is trying to help him out by steering the conversation away from romance, but jumping from talking about dating to talking about Suga has crossed some wires in his brain. He rubs the back of his neck, which feels suddenly hot, probably from too much time in the sun. “University. Yeah.”

“That’s nice—okay, Meichan, how about just one more bite? Just one?—I hope you all stay in touch. You have such good friends,” says Emiko. Mei shoves a piece of broccoli in her mouth, chews it up a bit, and then spits it back out, giggling.

**PLAN A**

When Daichi meets Suga at the bottom of the hill, Suga waves and says cheerfully, “Good morning! I’ve been up since two a.m.!” He looks it, too. Purplish shadows line his eyes and his smile has a slightly manic quality to it.

“Why?” Daichi demands, horrified, as they start trudging through the snow towards the school together.

“Well! You see! I submitted our assignment last night, three whole hours before it was due, like the excellent and proactive student I am”—Suga skids in the slush, and Daichi grabs him under one arm and hauls him upright before he can wipe out—“thank you, anyway, I submitted our assignment and thought no more of it, until I woke up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night and realized what I’d done. _Then_ I spent about an hour frantically researching how to unsend an email—”

“You can do that?”

“As it turns out, no, you can’t! Which is why _then_ I devised my plan. So don’t worry. I’ve got this covered. Plus, we have backup!”

Everything Suga has just said has elevated Daichi’s anxiety exponentially. Suga’s connection to reality is not exactly rock-solid even at the best of times. “Backup?” he says warily. “Suga, what did you—”

They crest the hill, Daichi’s lungs burning in the cold air, to see Asahi and Kiyoko waiting by the school gates, both of them yawning and pale with tiredness. “Kiyoko?” Daichi says, impressed despite himself. Suga can bully Asahi into doing just about anything, but Kiyoko is a lot harder to sway. “You got her to come too?”

“Well, I called her and explained the situation—”

“And she said yes? Just like that?”

“No, actually, she laughed at me and hung up. But then I called her again, and then I called her _again_ , and finally she said she’d come help if I agreed to never call her at five in the morning for the rest of my life. So there you go. Hey, you guys! Good morning!”

“G-g-g-good morning,” says Asahi, tripped up by an enormous yawn. “Um, so… why are we here…?”

“Suga didn’t tell you?” says Kiyoko, glancing up at Asahi in surprise.

“Um, he just sort of told me _be here or else_ ,” says Asahi. “So…”

Suga claps his hands and shoots everyone a sunny smile. “Asahi. Kiyoko. Daichi. My very good friends. I’ve convened this meeting because one of us, not to name any names specifically, but _one of us_ may have accidentally emailed a mildly embarrassing video of Daichi to Mori-sensei instead of our—I mean, their—physics assignment—”

“We all know it was you, Suga,” Kiyoko says flatly. “Asahi and I aren’t even in Mori-sensei’s class.”

“Let’s not get too caught up in the details,” says Suga, waving this away. “The point is that Daichi and I—er, I mean, Daichi and whoever did this—are supposed to present our—um, their—assignment in class this afternoon, at which point Mori-sensei will run the video on the projector, and Daichi may be mildly embarrassed. Obviously, this is very bad. Since Daichi is our beloved captain and the emblem of our club’s honour, we need to prevent this at all costs.”

Asahi and Kiyoko both stare at Daichi contemplatively, both clearly theorizing about the nature of the mildly embarrassing video. Daichi tries not to squirm.

“Well, what are we supposed to do about it?” Asahi asks, turning his attention back to Suga. “Break the projector?”

Suga’s eyes go wide. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. Good idea, that can be our Plan B—”

“Wait! I was joking!” yelps Asahi, waving his hands frantically. “We can’t do that! That’s vandalism!”

“No one is breaking anything,” says Daichi. The last thing the four of them need is to get kicked out of school months away from graduating and, more importantly, weeks away from nationals.

“Right, that’s why it’s Plan B,” says Suga, nodding. “Plan A is that we go right to the source.”

Asahi looks even more horrified. “You can’t kill Mori-sensei! That’s illegal!”

“We’re not killing anyone,” Suga reassures him, in a tone that is probably meant to be soothing. “We’re just going to delete the email! It’s simple. All we have to do is get into her school email inbox—”

“Um, that also sounds kind of illegal?” says Asahi.

“ _Not_ if she leaves her email open on her computer! I had a lot of free time this morning, so don’t worry, I’m well versed in international cyberlaw. Listen. Mori-sensei is the faculty advisor to the girls’ swim team, and she always comes in early to be at practice. During _our_ practice, Kiyoko will stand guard while I sneak into the staff room and delete the email. Problem solved.”

Oh, good. Suga has totally lost his mind. That’s great. That’s really great—

“He hasn’t lost his mind, actually,” Kiyoko tells Daichi. “I have to go into the staff room sometimes for the club’s administrative work. The faculty advisors log in when they get to school and usually don’t lock their computers when they leave. It might be doable. Not smart, but doable.”

“And you’re just… okay with this?” Daichi asks. Kiyoko shrugs.

“Wait, so what am I supposed to do?” demands Asahi, managing to sound simultaneously relieved and hurt at being left out of Suga’s semi-criminal master plan.

“You’re Daichi’s backup,” Suga explains. “Kiyoko’s always ducking in and out during practice, so no one will notice if she’s gone for fifteen minutes, but Coach Ukai might ask Daichi why I’m late, and Daichi can’t tell a lie to save his life. You need to be on standby to shut him up.”

“Hey, I’m not that bad,” Daichi protests.

“Yes you are,” says Kiyoko.

“Yeah, you’re pretty bad,” Asahi agrees. His winter coat crinkles as he crosses his arms, surveying Daichi critically. “Okay, I’ll help on one condition.”

As upsetting as it is to be facing down the prospect of having his physics teacher play a video of him with a child’s bear-themed bathrobe on his head dancing with a bunch of toddlers in front of his whole class, Daichi is also kind of touched. His friends are a pretty straight-laced bunch. The fact that they’re all willing to risk getting in trouble to help him out is really sweet. Daichi says, “Of course.”

“I want to see the video first,” says Asahi. Like a gangrenous appendage, Daichi’s momentary surge of warm-hearted affection rots away and falls right off. He takes it all back. His friends are assholes.

“No way—”

“Oh, come on, Daichi, it’s not even that bad. It’s cute!” Suga blinks, and then goes a little pink. “I mean, um, you know, the kids—the kids are cute. No one will even notice you.”

Daichi consents, grudgingly, and Suga whips out his phone while Kiyoko and Asahi crowd around. Asahi makes it a full two seconds before he claps his hands over his eyes and resorts to watching it through his fingers. “Oh God, I thought it would be funny, but I just keep picturing it playing in front of your class… sorry, but… oh God, I would die… I want to die just thinking about it…”

“All your siblings are fully clothed. For your family, that’s pretty good,” says Kiyoko. She’s not a touchy person, but Daichi is blessed to have her rest her hand lightly on his arm in a comforting manner for two whole seconds, leaving him reeling. “And Suga’s right, it’s really not that bad. I’m sure lots of the girls in your class would think it was very cute.”

“Now hang on a minute,” says Suga, looking alarmed.

“Oh, what’s the matter, Suga? You don’t want Daichi getting popular with girls? Why not?” asks Kiyoko.

“Yeah, Suga, why not?” says Asahi. He and Kiyoko glance at each other and then just as quickly glance away again, their mouths contorted like they’re having to exert considerable energy on not laughing. Daichi can’t help feeling like he’s missing out on some kind of joke.

“Well, because—because—look, it’s not that—it’s actually because—” Suga’s expression has a certain hunted quality, his eyes wide and dismayed, like a rabbit frozen in the middle of a highway. He takes a deep breath, and seems to rally a little. “It’s because of nationals, obviously! As vice-captain of the volleyball club, it’s my job to make sure our captain doesn’t get distracted by a bunch of girls suddenly falling in love with him. That’s all.”

“I’m not going to get distracted by girls,” Daichi protests. That Suga would even suggest this is highly offensive. He’s spent three years working to get here. He’s not going to get distracted by anything.

“Yes, we know,” says Kiyoko. Well—good. At least one of his friends doesn’t have serious doubts about the strength of his character. Although she and Asahi are doing that thing where they avoid looking at each other again. Are they making fun of him? Before he has a chance to feel too hurt, though, Kiyoko glances at Suga’s phone again, checking the time. “If we’re going to do this, we’d better get going. Practice starts soon.”

They split up, Suga and Kiyoko heading towards the main block of the school while Daichi and Asahi trudging through the slush to the club room. Daichi kind of can’t believe they’re actually doing this. It feels surreal. And really stupid. Also, Asahi keeps looking at him funny. “What?”

“Nothing!” Asahi says quickly. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and kicks a big hunk of melting ice, spraying dirty slush in front of them. “It’s just, um, you know. I’m impressed you actually let Suga take a video of you. You hate being on camera.”

“Yeah, well, I’m obviously never doing it again, after this,” says Daichi.

“Right. Yeah. So… um…”

“ _What?_ ”

“No, nothing, it was nothing! Never mind!”

Great. Good to know all his friends had some sort of secret council last night in which they collectively decided to be as weird as possible today. Daichi sighs. The lights are already on in the gym, the squeak of running shoes and the thud of volleyballs smacking the floor indicating that Kageyama and Hinata have made it in early, as usual. “Do you think they can actually do it? Suga and Kiyoko?”

“Oh—um, probably,” says Asahi. He doesn’t seem overly concerned, which is rare, for Asahi. “The teachers always think they’re both so well-behaved, so neither of them ever gets in trouble.”

This is true, now that Asahi mentions it. Suga and Kiyoko both radiate innocence and positive intent, giving off some sort of deceptive pheromone trace or high-frequency signal that overwhelms the senses by screaming MODEL STUDENT. It lets them get away with just about anything.

Daichi and Asahi get changed in the club room; most of the second-years are there too, yawning and rubbing the last remnants of sleep out of their eyes, except for Nishinoya, who tears past them on the stairs and sprints to the gym, full of way too much energy for 6:45 a.m. Yamaguchi and Tsukishima show up a couple of minutes later; Tanaka sprints in, wide-eyed and out of breath, right at 6:59, just as Daichi is calling out instructions for the warm-up. It’s too slippery to run outside right now, so Ukai has them running suicides across the gym instead. This goes just fine for about ten minutes, until Ukai taps Daichi’s shoulder in between sprints and says, “Hey, where’s Sugawara? He’s not normally late. Everything okay?”

This is it. This is Daichi’s chance to prove that he can be a smooth operator, that he’s not a pathologically bad liar, that his friends are all jerks who should have more faith in him. Unfortunately, by random chance and not _at all_ because he is, in fact, a pathologically bad liar, in this particular moment, Daichi blanks. “Uh,” he says. “Well he’s—what happened is—he’s actually—uh? The thing is. So, last night—we were—actually, never mind that—so, really—”

“He forgot his running shoes at home, so he had to double back,” says Asahi, pausing to slap the wall before turning and starting his next set. Only a few seconds behind him, Tanaka opts instead to body-slam the wall with pumped up, “HELL YEAH!” as he comes in, using the collision to redirect himself as he takes off again.

“Oh, okay,” says Ukai. He gives Daichi a slightly concerned look, like he’s worried about his mental wellbeing. God, this is humiliating. Asahi— _Asahi_ —possibly the _least smooth_ person Daichi has ever met in his life—managed to out-fib him. Maybe he _is_ a bad liar.

7:15 comes and goes without any sign of Suga or Kiyoko. That’s fine, Daichi figures. Maybe they needed a few extra minutes. Nothing to worry about. But then it’s 7:25. He’s getting antsy, glancing at Asahi every couple of minutes; Asahi is frowning more than usual, repeatedly pulling his hair tie out and redoing his bun in a way that broadcasts his anxiety loud and clear. Luckily, this is pretty normal for Asahi, so no one pays much attention, except for Nishinoya jumping around him and telling him, “Relax, Asahi-san! If you’re this stressed out now, think how bad you’re gonna feel in Tokyo!”

Kiyoko slips in quietly at 7:30, taking Yachi’s place tossing balls for Ukai to spike for receiving drills as if she’s been here the whole time—but still no Suga. Did he get caught? Is he in trouble? This is bad. This is really bad. Daichi tries to communicate telepathically with Kiyoko when she hands him a water-bottle during their next break, broadcasting _what happened???_ as loud as he can without actually saying it, but she just glances at Narita and Nishinoya standing nearby and shakes her head.

Finally, _finally_ , at 7:45, Suga shows up, and Daichi heaves a sigh of relief. They’re in the middle of a six-on-six—well, a five-on-six, given the notable absence of their senior setter—and Ennoshita is up to serve on Daichi’s side. Daichi shouts something encouraging to him out of habit, but his attention is on Suga as he trots over to Ukai and bows a couple of times, looking earnest and remorseful, and not at all like he just spent the past forty-five minutes trying to gain illicit access to his physics teacher’s email account. Ukai nods, more focused on watching the game, and gestures to Asahi’s team on the other side of the net, short one player. Then Suga settles himself in the corner to start his warm-up stretches. Daichi stares at him, squinting, trying to make out his expression. Is it a _thank-God-that-actually-worked_ sort of expression, or more a _I-fucked-up-big-time_ sort of expression? Daichi can’t tell. Mostly, Suga just looks focused on his stretches. He’s sitting with one leg straight out, his hands wrapped around his shoe as he leans forward to stretch out his quad. He’s actually pretty flexible. He has nice calves, too. And nice thighs. Nice hands, obviously. Daichi thinks about telling him that. _You have nice hands_. But then Suga would say—wait, no, Daichi needs to focus—

“ _Yours, Daichi-san!_ ”

Kageyama’s voice registers just in time for Daichi to turn around and receive Tanaka’s spike right to his stomach. Tanaka is the second-strongest spiker on the team, so the sensation is comparable to being rammed in the abdominals by a souped-up tank. The impact kills the ball, which drops to the ground, followed seconds later by Daichi himself, wheezing for breath and clutching at his stomach as black spots dance in front of his eyes.

Tanaka lets out a shout of alarm and ducks under the net to hover over Daichi, hands pressed to his head in abject horror; Hinata, already sprinting into position to spike, has to swerve to avoid running into him, instead opting to slip on the floor and land right on his ass.

“Whoa, killshot!” Nishinoya says cheerfully, reaching out to help Hinata to his feet. “Watch out, Shouyou—Daichi-san’s gonna put you out of a job!”

“Hey, I don’t screw up like that anymore!” protests Hinata. He rubs his tailbone and winces.

“Moron! You screw up all the time!” snaps Kageyama.

“At least I don’t block with my face like you!”

“You do that too, idiot!”

The rest of the team are suspended in varying attitudes of concern, ranging from mild consternation (Tsukishima) to blind panic (Tanaka, and, on the sidelines, Yachi)—with the exception of Asahi, who is laughing so hard he can’t stand up straight.

“Sawamura! You okay?” demands Ukai, jogging over to crouch beside him. Daichi nods, blinking back tears of pain. He doesn’t trust himself to speak without throwing up. Holy shit. That _hurt_.

Daichi’s day continues to improve after practice, when he finally gets a few minutes to reconvene with Suga, Kiyoko, and Asahi before all four of them have to run off to class. “What _happened?_ ” Daichi demands in a whisper, conscious of their peers milling around them in the hall as they make for their homerooms. “You guys were gone for ages!”

“Okay, so, we have some good news, and some bad news,” Suga whispers back. “The good news is neither of us got expelled. So let’s just take a moment to appreciate that. The other good news is that Kiyoko was right about the teachers never locking their computers, so I hacked it no problem—”

“Um, I really don’t think it counts as hacking if the computer is already logged in and everything,” says Asahi.

“Oh, excuse _me_ , I didn’t realize I was talking to a _computer engineer_ over here—”

“Well I’m _not_ , but—”

“Suga. Did you delete the email or not?” Daichi demands.

Suga deflates a little, his shoulders hunching inwards. “Ah. Well. Not _exactly_ , no—”

“He was on the wrong computer,” says Kiyoko. “He ended up at Fujikawa-sensei’s desk instead of Mori-sensei’s.”

“They have the same mug! I got confused!”

“Then Nakamura-sensei walked in on him,” says Kiyoko, and Daichi groans.

“It’s okay, it’s okay! I told her I’d been looking for her because I wanted to read more Heian-era poetry. Luckily she believed me,” says Suga, effectively proving Asahi’s hypothesis that Suga’s inherent good-boy aura is potent enough to let him get away with whatever the hell he wants; Daichi likes to think he’s a pretty good student, but he’s also fairly certain that if he tried using that line on any of his teachers, they would just laugh in his face and send him to the vice-principal’s office. Suga digs a big paperback book out of his bag and waves it around, adding bitterly, “But then she talked to me about the timeless romanticism of Heian courtship poems for twenty minutes, and now I’m stuck reading _this_ so I can come up with something insightful to say next time I see her. Honestly, Daichi, the things I do for you…”

“Yes, it’s not like this is your fault or anything,” says Kiyoko.

Suga has the good grace to look a little sheepish. “Well, yeah. Um. Anyway, so I didn’t get a chance to delete the email— _but_ Kiyoko says there’s about a ten-minute period at the start of lunch break when the staff room is usually empty, so we’ve got another chance.” He gives Daichi’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. The heat from his hand seems to radiate through Daichi’s uniform, spreading all the way across his back and deep into his chest, or maybe he’s just imagining it. “Don’t worry. This time we’ll get it for sure.”

**PLAN A, TAKE 2**

When they have free time to work on their English homework during second period, Suga leans across the gap between his and Daichi’s desks and whispers, “Here’s the plan. Kiyoko has some actual filing to do, so I’ll go into the staff room with her and pretend I’m helping out, in case anyone’s still in there. You and Asahi can keep a casual lookout in the hall. Easy, right? It’ll be no problem.”

“Sawamura-kun, please focus on your own work,” says Sato-sensei, staring down at Daichi disapprovingly through his big glasses. This seems a tiny bit unfair to Daichi, given that he didn’t even say anything, but—

“Sorry, sensei, I was just helping Daichi with his conditionals,” says Suga, offering their teacher a beatific smile. Sato-sensei just nods and moves on, and Daichi stares at Suga in amazement. They’re not even doing conditionals today. Suga just spontaneously generated a bunch of bullshit and Sato-sensei totally ate it up. Asahi really _was_ right. How has Daichi never noticed before? Can Suga really get away with anything? Is he _aware_ that he can get away with anything? Daichi hopes not. He’s not sure he’s ready to live in a world where Suga has absolute power and knows it.

When the lunch bell rings, Daichi and Suga hurry out into the hall; Asahi is immediately visible, towering apologetically over all the other third-years milling around him, but there’s no sign of Kiyoko. The three of them hang around anxiously by the door to her classroom, taking turns staring at the time on their phones and willing the minutes to tick by just a little slower, before their ten-minute window closes for good.

“Where _is_ she?” Asahi mutters, fidgeting with his uniform buttons. “This is bad, this is so bad, I can’t believe you dragged me into this, I’m so stressed out…”

Daichi peers into Kiyoko’s classroom. She and two other girls are standing at the front of the room, trapped in conversation with Mikami-sensei. Shit. This _is_ bad. Mikami-sensei can talk _forever_. Kiyoko glances over to the door and meets Daichi’s gaze. She turns back to Mikami-sensei a second later, smiling politely, but behind her back she makes a flicking motion with her wrist: _go_.

“It’s fine, it’s completely fine, we can manage on our own!” Suga says, in what he probably intends to be a soothing tone, as they hurry down the hall towards the staff room. “There’s three of us! We can still pull it off! We’re fully competent—”

“No we’re not! We’re going to get caught, we’re definitely going to get caught, we’re going to get in so much trouble, oh my God—”

“Hey! No freaking out!” snaps Suga, and punches Asahi in the arm hard enough to make Asahi yelp and Daichi cringe with sympathy. No one ever seems to have gotten around to telling Suga that he’s put on muscle since first year; Daichi maintains that Suga doesn’t know his own strength, although Asahi disputes this vehemently, arguing that Suga knows his own strength perfectly well and actively chooses to use it for evil.

The door to the staff room looms innocuously in front of them now, and Suga sidles up to it in what he probably thinks is a casual manner. He peeks inside, then nods and says, “Looks clear. You two hang out here and give me a signal if someone’s coming, alright? But be _natural_ , okay?”

“Got it. Don’t take too long,” says Daichi. Asahi, whose face has gone a bit pale against the black of his uniform, just nods jerkily, looking about as unnatural as it is possible to look without the aid of hard drugs or occult forces. Suga fixes a smile onto his face and strolls into the staff room, purposeful and nonchalant; Daichi wonders when the hell Suga got so good at the fundamentals of low-grade espionage, and if he should be concerned.

Daichi turns to Asahi and says, “Uh, so…” Then he stops. He figures they should try to maintain a conversation, to reduce the weirdness of the two of them standing in the middle of the hall staring at each other silently. Maintaining a conversation should be easy. He maintains conversations with Asahi on a daily basis without even thinking about it. Asahi is his best friend. They have lots to talk about. Lots. Like, for instance… well… there’s… uh… well, maybe if he starts talking, he’ll think of something. “Do you…” starts Daichi, and then trails off, not really sure where he’s going with that.

“Yeah,” says Asahi.

“So… what’s… uh… it’s really…”

“Mm hm,” says Asahi.

Daichi glances sideways into the staff room, where he can see Suga jiggling the mouse at one of the computers to interrupt the screensaver. It probably won’t take long, right? Just a couple of minutes. But what if Suga picked the wrong computer again? Or what if Mori-sensei doesn’t have her email open right now? No, no, it’ll be fine. It’ll all be fine. What if Mori-sensei dusts her keyboard for fingerprints every night? No, that’s totally insane. It’ll be just fine—

Asahi nudges Daichi. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes have gone huge with alarm. Daichi turns and sees Takeda-sensei coming down the hall towards them—or, more accurately, towards the staff room. _Shit_. What should he do? If Daichi says something, Takeda-sensei will hear—but if he _doesn’t_ say anything—oh God, why didn’t they plan this part—

Daichi stares desperately at Suga through the doorway, willing him to look up—and, to Daichi’s amazement, Suga does, within seconds. He looks right at Daichi, who is doing everything in his power to say _Takeda-sensei is coming down the hall, you need to get out of there RIGHT NOW_ without actually speaking the words out loud. They’ve been friends for three years; they’ve seen each other cry; they’ve seen each other naked; they know each other’s parents; Suga once borrowed a pair of Daichi’s underwear ( _clean_ underwear, it was _clean_ , why did everyone make such a big deal about it?) at training camp when Tanaka spilled curry sauce all over Suga’s lap. That _must_ be a sufficient foundation for _some_ kind of basic psychic bond.

Suga winks at him and gives him a thumbs-up. Then he turns back to Mori-sensei’s computer. Oh God. He totally misinterpreted. Their psychic bond has the signal strength of a dying cellphone in an underground elevator. Daichi looks at Asahi, who is completely on his wavelength right now, not that it does any good, because Asahi is visibly panicking. Takeda-sensei is only a few feet away now. He hasn’t seen them yet; he’s flipping through a stack of assignments, frowning. Daichi has to do something, he has to do _something_ —

“Sensei!” he says loudly, hoping Suga will hear him and get the message.

Takeda-sensei glances up and blinks at Daichi, his mind obviously elsewhere, until he seems to register Daichi’s face. He smiles and says, “Oh, hello! Are you waiting for someone? Most of the teachers are just in the kitchen right now.” He takes another step towards the door—

“I’m waiting for you,” Daichi blurts out.

“Oh!” says Takeda-sensei. He blinks again. “Sure! What can I do for you?”

Okay, this is it. This is Daichi’s chance to redeem himself for fumbling in front of Ukai this morning. All he needs to do is come up with one semi-plausible question for Takeda-sensei. Something about nationals. Something about modern literature. Something about applying to university. There are _so many things_ he could say right now. He can’t _possibly_ screw up this time.

“I was just wondering,” Daichi starts off, and then hesitates. Takeda-sensei is watching him expectantly. Daichi’s brain starts to buzz nervously, the same paralysis seizing him that stiffened his muscles and froze him up at the start of Karasuno’s first set against Shiratorizawa. Shit. With Ukai this morning his mind went blank, but this time he has too many lies all ready to go, scrambling themselves up on the tip of his tongue. He tries to push through. “Uh. Well. The thing is. Well, actually, Suga and I”—oh shit, why did he bring up Suga, he shouldn’t have done that, he can feel himself going bright red with incriminating guilt—“we—I mean, actually, that’s—so, what I was wondering is—because we—I mean, I—or, uh, so—because actually—with the team, I was wondering if—uh—”

Inexplicably, this seems to make some kind of sense to Takeda-sensei. His smile softens, and he nods sympathetically. “It’s okay, I think I can guess what you’re getting at,” Takeda-sensei says kindly. This is a relief to Daichi, but also a surprise, since he’s pretty sure all he was getting at was his sudden inability to have a normal human conversation. “Of course it’s up to you, whether you want to discuss it with the team or not, but they all really respect you—both of you. I don’t think it’ll be a big deal. And of course Ukai and I will support you if there’s any trouble.”

“Oh,” says Daichi. That’s nice. He doesn’t know what the hell they’ll support him _in_ , but still, it’s nice. “Uh. Okay. Good.”

Asahi makes a sort of odd, strangled sound, and Daichi glances over to see his fist pressed to his mouth and his face contorted into some kind of complicated grimace. He is either in a significant amount of pain or—and somehow Daichi suspects this to be the more likely option—putting an insane amount of effort into not cracking up. “What?” Daichi snaps at him, annoyed. This is a dire situation. _He’s_ putting his ass on the line here trying to stall for time, and Asahi, his so-called _backup_ , is just standing there, losing his shit.

“Nothing,” chokes Asahi. “I just—respect you so much—”

Takeda-sensei is watching them with a bemused smile. “Well, if that’s all—oh, hello, sorry—”

“Oh no, don’t mind me,” says Mori-sensei, nodding politely as she slips past Takeda-sensei into the staff room. “Just grabbing my phone. Carry on.”

It happens so fast that all Daichi can do is stand there and stare at her back in numb horror as she approaches her desk. Takeda-sensei is saying something again, but Daichi lunges away from him and after Mori-sensei, shouting, “Mori-sensei, wait!”

She turns in surprise, adjusting her glasses as she frowns down at him. In the midst of his blind panic, he has the prescience to register that the staff room seems to be empty. Did Suga make it out already? But how? There’s only one door—did he go out the window? But they’re on the second floor…

Then Daichi catches a glimpse of Suga’s wide-eyed face peeking out at him from under Mori-sensei’s desk. Oh God. This is bad. This is so bad. Daichi jerks his head up hastily, staring at the humming computers, at the jackets slung over the backs of chairs, at the stacks of books and papers, filed neatly at some desks and stacked in precarious, teetering piles at others—at anything that isn’t Suga hiding under their physics teacher’s desk while their physics teacher herself is standing literal feet away.

“Well?” Mori-sensei says impatiently. Asahi is right behind Daichi, hovering anxiously. Daichi hopes he hasn’t spotted Suga, because Asahi will freak if he does, and then they’re in real trouble.

“I, uh, wanted to talk to you,” Daichi says, stalling for time, praying to be graced with a plausible lie, something, _anything_.

“Alright,” says Mori-sensei. She waits a moment. When Daichi just stares at her, she sighs and says, “If this is about the assignment—”

“No! The assignment? No. No, it’s not about the, uh, the assignment,” Daichi insists. Okay. This is a good start. What next? “It’s just that—it’s just that I”—oh God, it’s happening again, maybe his friends are right, maybe he is a bad liar—“it’s just that…”

At the very edges of his vision (Daichi is exerting every ounce of willpower at his disposal to _not look_ ) Daichi sees movement behind Mori-sensei, in the vicinity of her desk, as Suga slips out and executes a high-speed crawl behind the next block of desks. Daichi elbows Asahi in the ribs, subtly shoving him into a position where he’ll block Mori-sensei’s view.

“Sawamura-kun, can’t this wait until class?” Mori-sensei demands.

“I think Galileo was wrong,” Daichi blurts out. Oh good. Now _he’s_ totally lost his mind. Excellent.

Mori-sensei blinks. She opens her mouth. She closes it again. She says, finally, after much thought, “I see. About what, exactly? The law of falling bodies? The moon’s craters? Heliocentrism?”

“Just… in general,” says Daichi. Movement again as Suga slips closer to the door. Daichi stares intently at Mori-sensei, until she blinks again, looking a little unnerved. Oops.

“And what are _your_ thoughts on this?” Mori-sensei demands of Asahi, who is standing there fidgeting. Her frown deepens. “Wait a minute, you’re not even in my class, are you?”

“No! Um! I—I don’t have any thoughts!” yelps Asahi.

“Oh, _good_ ,” says Mori-sensei, rolling her eyes. “Glad to see three years of secondary education haven’t been _totally_ wasted on you. She turns back to Daichi. “Well, I look forward to reading about your groundbreaking experimental work in _Nature Physics,_ Sawamura-kun. Until then, maybe this can wait until class this afternoon?”

“Sure. Yeah. Okay. Thank you for your time,” says Daichi. He sure hopes Suga has had a chance to make it out of here already, because there is no way in hell he can stay here embarrassing himself for another second. He grabs Asahi by the arm and drags him out into the hall.

“ _I_ _think Galileo was wrong?_ ” says Asahi, the second they’re out of earshot.

“Let’s not talk about it,” says Daichi.

“That was seriously the best you could come up with? _I think Galileo was—”_

“I _said_ , let’s _not_ talk about it—”

“Okay, okay, don’t yell—”

“Fancy seeing you two here,” says Suga, falling into step beside them as they turn the corner. He sounded very casual and relaxed for someone who had been hiding under his physics teacher’s desk less than sixty seconds ago. “So. Um. Daichi, I know I said it would only take a second, but—”

“You didn’t delete it,” Daichi says grimly. So he made a total idiot of himself in front of Takeda-sensei and Mori-sensei for absolutely nothing. Fantastic.

“I’m _really_ sorry,” says Suga, and he sounds it, too. He runs a hand through his hair, and Daichi’s eyes follow his fingers instinctively, fixating on the smudge of dust on his cheek, wondering if he would be out of line if he reached over to wipe it off, wondering why he _wants_ to reach over to wipe it off so _badly_. “She had so many tabs open, and the school’s computers are so slow, and then you guys came in with Mori-sensei, and… um… is there something on my…?”

“Oh—just, you have dust, sort of here—” Daichi taps his own cheek to illustrate, playing it cool, wondering why he feels like he has to play it cool.

“Oh! Here? Or—”

“No, sort of—uh, can I just—”

“Yes! Yes, sure, is that—”

Asahi clears his throat, and Daichi quickly drops his hand from Suga’s face, instead straightening his jacket and trying to pretend his heart isn’t doing some weird kind of salsa routine.

“So, next steps—” Suga begins.

But Daichi shakes his head. This has gone far enough. “No. No more next steps. Let’s just leave it. You almost got caught. It’s really not that big a deal, anyway.”

“But—”

“I’m serious. Just drop it.”

“But—!”

“Suga. It’s fine. I really don’t mind.”

“Um,” says Asahi. “Okay… so… would this be a bad time to mention I stole Mori-sensei’s phone, or…?”

**A BRIEF CRIMINAL INTERLUDE**

“You _stole_ Mori-sensei’s _phone_?”

“Well—”

“You stole _Mori-sensei’s_ phone _?_ ”

“I just—

“ _You_ stole Mori-sensei’s phone?”

“Suga, you’re just saying the same thing over and over again,” Daichi points out, although honestly, Daichi can’t blame him. He too is staring at Asahi as if Asahi just ripped off his clothes and started running naked through the halls. This is the most un-Asahi thing Asahi has ever done. This is the kind of unfounded rumour that gets started about Asahi because he looks like a delinquent, the kind of unfounded rumour that makes Asahi shrivel up with mortified despair, except that this time Asahi is the one saying it.

Asahi squirms under the combined weight of their disbelief. “I’m sorry! I panicked! It was sitting on her desk and Daichi pushed me towards it and I thought—Daichi, I thought you wanted me to—”

“ _Why_ would I _ever_ want you to do that?”

“I don’t know! As a diversion! Or—or—I don’t know, oh my God, this is bad, this is so bad, what am I going to do—”

“Is this a jailable offense?” demands Suga, whose frantic three-in-the-morning legal self-education obviously did not cover anything beyond the realm of basic cyberlaw. “Oh my God, Daichi, what are we going to—”

“Just _calm down_ ,” says Daichi. He loves his friends, but God, at what cost? He turns to Kiyoko, who has finally managed to escape Mikami-sensei’s loquacious clutches to join their impromptu council of war in their usual hangout on the east second-floor landing. “We can hand it in to the vice-principal’s office and say we found it, right?”

“We can’t do that!” Asahi yelps. “Mori-sensei will know! We were hanging around the staff room! You were being super weird! It’s suspicious!”

“He’s right, Daichi, you were so bad…” Suga moans, “I mean, you were _so_ bad… you’ve doomed us…”

“Daichi was being suspicious? That doesn’t sound right, not when I heard he’s _such_ a good liar…” says Kiyoko, and Daichi glares at her. He is gradually beginning to come to terms with the fact that his friends may be right about this aspect of his personality, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. Anyway, he _could_ be a good liar, if he really had to be. He glances at Suga, and then looks quickly away again. There’s stuff he doesn’t tell people all the time.

“Then we’ll give it to someone else to turn it in,” Daichi insists, stubbornly refusing to be infected by Asahi and Suga’s hysteria.

“Ah, an unwitting drug mule. Good thinking,” says Suga, nodding.

“Uh… sure,” says Daichi. “Anyway, I know exactly who we can ask. Come on.”

The first-years stare at the four of them when they walk into the 1-4 classroom—enraptured by Kiyoko, alarmed by Asahi, and (to be honest) mostly ignoring Daichi and Suga. Tsukishima spots them first, nudging Yamaguchi, who turns around and stares at them, setting down his chopsticks and looking politely nervous.

Daichi thinks he can probably pull this one off. Yamaguchi respects him. He’s a good kid, generally well-behaved, not suspicious by nature. Daichi won’t even have to lie to him, not really. “Hey, Yamaguchi,” Daichi says, and gives him a friendly smile.

“Daichi-san! Um, hi!” says Yamaguchi.

“Would you mind doing me a quick favour?” asks Daichi. Normally he hates seeing upperclassmen boss their kouhai around with pointless chores, but this is an exceptional circumstance warranting a slight loosening of his personal morals. He sets the phone down on the desk where Yamaguchi and Tsukishima are eating their lunches. “Asahi found this in the—uh—in the—in the—”

“Hall,” supplies Asahi.

“Yeah,” says Daichi, relieved. “Would you mind turning it in to the vice-principal’s office?”

“Oh! Sure, no problem!” says Yamaguchi. He frowns. “But why, um… I mean, sorry, no problem, of course!”

“Great. Thanks,” says Daichi. He feels the tension start to drain from his shoulders. At least that’s one problem off his plate. He turns to leave.

“Wait a minute, Daichi-san,” says Tsukishima. All four third-years freeze, carefully not making eye contact with each other as they turn back around.

“Yes?” says Daichi.

“The vice-principal’s office is just down the hall,” Tsukishima points out. “Why don’t you just turn in the phone yourself?”

“Right. Well…” says Daichi. He’s keeping his smile in place, but it’s a strain. He can feel the muscles in his face starting to twitch.

“It’s just that we’re really busy,” says Kiyoko. “Because—um—”

“It’s tax season,” says Suga.

“Tsukki, it’s fine, I really don’t mind—”

“Tax season starts in February,” says Tsukishima, apparently willing to overlook the fact that they’re all minors with no income, but drawing the line at Suga’s inaccurate chronology for Japan’s annual tax cycle. Tsukishima narrows his eyes at them. “Why does Asahi-san look so nervous?”

“Because—it’s—that’s because—that’s just the way his face looks,” says Daichi.

“Tsukki, it’s no trouble—”

“Whose phone is it?” asks Tsukishima.

“I—whose phone…? Well, it’s—that is—we didn’t check,” says Daichi.

“Why didn’t you check?”

“Tsukki—”

“We could check now,” says Tsukishima. He reaches for the phone—

“No!” yelps Suga, while Asahi clutches at the back of Daichi’s shirt in terror and Kiyoko sort of twitches.

Daichi snatches the phone off the desk and starts backing up in what he hopes is at least a semi-casual manner. “Actually, you know what? It’s fine. We’re not that busy. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He nods curtly, desperate to salvage some shred of his captainly dignity. “See you two at practice.”

“Oooh, that Tsukki!” Suga mutters darkly as they hurry away from the 1-4 classroom. “He’s too smart for his own good! Acting like we’re up to something!”

“Well, we _are_ up to something,” says Daichi.

“That’s not the point!”

“Oh my God,” says Asahi, “oh my God, oh my God, what are we going to do—”

Before he can relapse back into full-blown panic mode, Kiyoko rests a hand on his arm, which has the effect of shocking him into tranquility. “Relax, Asahi,” she says, offering him a small smile. “Let me take care of it. I have an idea.”

**PLAN B (COERCED)**

The three of them watch Kiyoko stride off down the hall purposefully, and Daichi reflects, not for the first time, that they definitely don’t deserve her. When she’s gone, Suga turns to Daichi and Asahi and says, “Will you help me with something? It’ll only take a minute.”

“No way,” says Asahi, shaking his head vehemently. “You’ve put me through enough weird stuff today, man. No way.”

Suga pouts at him, and Asahi looks torn, but he holds out against Suga’s wiles by the simple expedient of sprinting down the hall after Kiyoko, shouting, “Kiyoko, wait up, don’t leave me with them!”

Suga sighs and turns on Daichi instead. “Daichi? Please?”

“Sure,” Daichi says automatically, before his survival instincts can remind him of all the weird shit Suga has put him through today, too. “Wait, I mean, maybe. What is it?”

“It’s nothing dangerous. We won’t get in trouble,” Suga reassures him. Given Suga’s recent track record, this is not particularly reassuring, but Suga smiles at him, and Daichi’s capacity for higher-order critical thinking instantly plummets. Suga leads Daichi up the stairs, back towards the third-year classrooms.

The halls are empty, aside from a few groups of students clustered around chatting with their friends; most people are still eating their lunches, packed into their classrooms since it’s too cold and wet to eat outside. Daichi sneaks a glance at Suga, and catches him looking back. Suga turns his head away, but his hand rises to press his fingers to his mouth, his face contorting like he’s trying not to laugh.

“What?” Daichi demands.

“Nothing, nothing,” says Suga, but he can’t quite manage to hold back a snort.

“ _What?_ ”

“It’s just… _Galileo was wrong?_ I mean…”

“Oh, shut up,” says Daichi, and Suga cracks up, laughing until he’s wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. Daichi shoves him, but not too hard. He really likes seeing Suga laugh—his big smile, the way his eyes crinkle. “If you just brought me up here to make fun of me—”

“I didn’t, I didn’t! This is serious! I need you to pick me up on your shoulders.”

“You—what?” says Daichi.

“Here, I’ll show you—” Suga grabs him by the wrist and tugs him into the nearest classroom—Mori-sensei’s classroom, currently deserted. Daichi is struck by a sudden sense of foreboding, accompanied by a suspicion that perhaps Asahi had the right idea.

“Suga,” says Daichi, slipping into what Tanaka calls his captain voice, the one he uses on the first- and second-years to indicate in no uncertain terms that they should Behave Themselves Or Else. Suga has the decency to look guilty, but only for a split-second.

“It’s _fine_ ,” he insists. “I’m just trying to help you out! This will only take a minute. Come on, let me get up on your shoulders, I need a boost to reach the projector. I’m _not_ going to break it,” he adds defensively, when Daichi crosses his arms and stares him down. “I’m just going to change the settings! Mori-sensei is hopeless with it. If I change the input, I guarantee you she’ll need at least an hour to reset it, and then we won’t have time to do our presentation. Seriously, it’ll only take me a second!”

Daichi sighs, but he squats down behind Suga, who obligingly widens his stance so Daichi can get his head between Suga’s legs. Suga sniggers and says, “Oh my, Daichi, you should at least ask me out to dinner first…”

“Huh? Why?” says Daichi. Suga starts to say something else, but it turns into a yelp as Daichi rises out of his squat, his shoulders connecting with Suga’s thighs and lifting Suga with him. Suga lurches forward worryingly and throws his arms around Daichi’s head, helpfully covering his eyes—but after a little more wobbling and some nervous giggling from Suga, they manage to stabilize.

“Can you reach?” Daichi asks, as Suga reaches up to start fiddling with the buttons on the projector suspended from the ceiling.

“Yeah, I’ve got it… oh, oops… um, hopefully that piece wasn’t important…”

Daichi grips Suga’s calves, trying to keep him balanced as he leans forward. Having four younger siblings means Daichi has developed an exceptional proficiency for carrying people on his shoulders. However, he is quickly realizing that there are some notable differences between carrying small children aged three to seven and carrying an eighteen-year-old guy. For one thing, Suga is _heavy_. Daichi doesn’t think of Suga as big, probably because he usually sees him standing next to Asahi, but Suga is about the same height as Daichi and doesn’t weigh a whole lot less. Daichi is pretty sure he can feel his spinal column fusing and compacting under Suga’s weight. And also—

“Hey, what are you laughing at?” Suga demands. “I’m risking my life for you here, you know!”

“It’s just,” says Daichi, exerting every ounce of willpower at his disposal to keep his shoulders from shaking, in the interests of not dislodging Suga, “every time you move, I can feel your dick—”

Suga chokes out a gasp and slaps him in the head. “Sawamura Daichi! Cut that out, you know I’m waiting ‘til marriage!”

“Well I’m not _trying_ feel it—”

“Just wait until I get a big boner from this sexy projector—”

“ _Pff_ —stop it, stop, you’re gonna fall—”

“Ooh, look, I’m pushing its buttons—how do you like _that_ , Projector-san—whoa, hey, quit moving, don’t drop me—!”

“I can’t help it, you’re making me laugh—”

“What on earth are you boys doing?” Mori-sensei demands from behind them.

Daichi whips around, or tries to. This is a mistake. Suga overbalances, nearly falling over backwards, then nearly snapping Daichi’s neck as he overcorrects and falls over forward instead, then octopusing the entire upper half of his body over Daichi’s head as he clings on for dear life. He tries frantically to dismount, managing to slide one leg off Daichi’s shoulder, but the sudden redistribution of his weight leaves the other leg thoroughly stuck. Daichi, caught off guard and off balance, stumbles backwards blindly and trips over a chair, clutching at a desk in an unsuccessful bid for support as they both go down together. Daichi sits down hard, jolting his tailbone so brutally he feels it in his sternum; Suga lurches forward into his lap, one knee still hooked around Daichi’s neck.

“Mori-sensei!” Suga gasps, pushing himself upright as best he can as he tries to tug his leg free. Daichi grabs his calf and heaves, and Suga goes sprawling forward onto the floor again. “Hello! We were—uh—we were just booting up the projector for you! So it’s ready for class!” His smile looks a bit forced, as if even he suspects that this is pushing his capacity to successfully bullshit teachers a little too far.

Mori-sensei just stares at them from the doorway, her mouth hanging slightly open. As a general rule she’s a total hardass and less susceptible to Suga’s charms than some of her colleagues, but right now she just looks stunned, which Daichi will admit is understandable. She stares at Suga, who is scrambling to his feet, straightening his uniform and exuding a completely fabricated aura of devout innocence. She stares at Daichi, who is still sitting on the floor, staring right back at her in shock. His ears are ringing; the impact with the floor cracked his jaw together, hard, which is just great. All he needs today is to lose another tooth. Maybe his dentist will give him a two-for-one discount.

“Are you alright, Sawamura-kun?” Mori-sensei asks, as Suga helps Daichi upright. Daichi nods, and winces. Every part of him aches. He’s too old for this— _this_ being vigorous friendship with Suga.

“Um, so—” Suga begins, sucking in a big breath, gearing up for another whopper of a fib.

Mori-sensei just sighs. She steps into the classroom, leaving the doorway free, and points out at the hall. “Honestly? I don’t want to know,” she says. “Just get out.”

Suga sort of looks like he wants to argue, but Daichi has the good sense to grab him by the arm and haul him out of the classroom, hurrying him down the hall until they’re safely out of Mori-sensei’s range.

**NOT PART OF THE PLAN AT ALL, ACTUALLY**

“I’m really sorry,” says Suga, for probably the millionth time that day. They’re waiting in the east second-floor landing for Kiyoko and Asahi to return, hoping for a tiny scrap of good news at last. At this point, if Daichi can make it through the rest of the day without Mori-sensei sending him to the guidance counsellor’s office out of concern over his sanity, he’ll consider it a victory.

“It’s fine,” says Daichi, and honestly, he means it. He’s dreading their physics presentation, for obvious reasons, but the horror of this morning has turned into a sort of reluctant resignation. He’s survived worse. His friends are right; the video really isn’t that bad. Yet Suga is drooping with gloom beside him, sagging against the wall as if he’s working up the energy to attend someone’s funeral. “Suga, seriously, it’s fine. I’m over it.”

“I _know_ you are,” says Suga, sounding cross. He heaves a sigh. “I just—oh, I don’t know. I really wanted to help you out. You’re always doing stuff for other people.”

“I am?” says Daichi, surprised. He’s always thought of himself as pretty selfish. He could do more to help around the house; he could spend more time visiting his grandparents; he could be more patient with his siblings; he always feels like he could be working harder for the team—after all, it was Suga who spent all those lunch hours helping Hinata with his receives back in April, and it was Suga and Tanaka who got up disgustingly early to help Hinata and Kageyama practice in the gym (yes, Daichi knows about that, _obviously_ ), and it was Suga who went right up to Coach Ukai and told him to put Kageyama on the starting line because it was the best thing for the team, even though Daichi _knows_ how badly Suga wants to be out there on the court playing himself. For that matter, it’s Suga who comes over to Daichi’s house all the time and helps him babysit, when he could be enjoying the peace and quiet of his own house, where he has one teenager brother who just spends all his time practicing the piano and snapping at Suga to stop borrowing his sweaters. Daichi is the one who should be doing something for Suga, not the other way around.

But still, Suga says, “Don’t be stupid. Of course you are.”

Daichi nudges him in the ribs and tries to crack a joke to lighten the mood. “Hey, well, maybe Kiyoko’s right, and this will finally get me a girlfriend.”

This does not seem to have been the right thing to say. Suga just wilts further. He turns his head away and mutters, “Well, maybe I don’t want you to get a girlfriend.”

“I was just joking,” says Daichi. He glances sidelong at Suga, who is uncharacteristically sulky, and can’t help adding, “Why not?”

“Because—because—I just don’t!” Suga rubs the back of his neck. His face has started flushing pink.

It isn’t a big deal. Daichi doesn’t want to date right now anyway. Well, that’s not the issue, exactly—it’s more that dating as a concept feels foreign, unfathomable, the kind of thing that happens to other people, like another language, one in which everyone else around him has managed to achieve fluency, one for which he never even got invited to the introductory class. He can’t really picture himself dating anyone.

 _Well_ —okay, that’s not quite right either. If he’s being honest with himself—and he does try to be honest with himself, when he can—there’s maybe one person he could picture himself dating. He thinks about saying that right now. _There is one person I might want to date, if he’s interested…_ The thought makes his stomach squirm. He thinks Suga would be kind about turning him down, but still.

“I, uh… I don’t really want a girlfriend anyway, so…” Daichi says instead. He glances at Suga again, to see if this has perked him up at all, and finds Suga looking right back. They’re already standing close beside each other, but Suga shifts a little closer, until his shoulder is bumping right up against Daichi’s, his body warm against the draft from the window behind them. Daichi blinks, but he doesn’t look away. He thinks about yesterday, staring at Suga from across the table in his kitchen, watching him work. This close, he has a better view of the details of Suga’s face—his pale eyelashes, the dip above his lip, his hair flipping up over his ears—the tips of his ears are pink too, actually—

Suga smiles, his eyes crinkling slightly, and Daichi registers his own heartbeat drumming in his ears. Suga has such a nice smile. It’s really not fair of him, breaking it out right now, at a time like this, in melee range. Suga leans in, his eyes fluttering closed, and—

“It’s done,” says Kiyoko, and Daichi jumps so hard he nearly falls over sideways. Beside him, Suga lets out an undignified squeak and shifts his weight away, leaving a conservative two feets of space between them, suddenly very invested in studying the ceiling panels at the top of the stairway high above them.

Daichi makes himself focus on Kiyoko. She’s standing in front of them with Asahi, who is staring at Daichi with a sort of pitying expression—a very odd look, coming from Asahi. “It’s—so—you—uh, you got someone to return the phone?” Daichi manages, scrambling to collect himself.

“She asked Nishinoya to turn it in,” explains Asahi. “I’ve never seen him move that fast before… um, but also…”

“I deleted the email,” says Kiyoko. She tends to keep her feelings to herself, but right now she gives a small, satisfied smile that does the emotional equivalent of socking Daichi right in the stomach, in a good way.

“You _did_?” demands Suga. “But—but— _how?_ ”

“Mori-sensei doesn’t have a passcode on her phone. I just went right into her inbox,” says Kiyoko.

Daichi and Suga stare at her. “I… didn’t even consider that,” Suga admits. “Her email… on her phone… and you just… Kiyoko, you’re a genius!”

Kiyoko shrugs.

Daichi’s whole body sags with relief as tension he didn’t even realize he was holding drains right out. He’d resigned himself to his fate, yes, but he hadn’t exactly been looking forward to it. All day he’s been having intermittent visions of standing at the front of the class, itching with embarrassment as his classmates cackle, Suga laughing nervously beside him, Mori-sensei saying dryly, “Sawamura-kun, as entertaining as this is, I think perhaps you may have misunderstood the purpose of the assignment…” And now… nothing. He’s free. He’ll go to class and there will be some confusion over the missing video, the kind of thing that would stress him out normally, but he’ll just stand there with Suga, fully at peace, one with the universe, knowing his grades can take the small hit Mori-sensei will inevitably dock them for disorganization if it means obscuring from public knowledge the fact that he, Sawamura Daichi, respected captain of the boys’ volleyball club, can and will competently perform the _Hamtaro_ dance with his wild younger siblings. It’s fine. For once, it’s actually, truly, fine.

**THE COUNTERSTRIKE**

Suga’s desk in physics class is two rows in front of Daichi’s, which allows Suga to spend the entirety of the first fifteen minutes of class turning around to grin at Daichi, until Mori-sensei finally snaps and says, “Sugawara-kun, _please_ keep your eyes up _here_.”

“Sorry, sensei!” Suga says cheerfully, not sounding particularly sorry at all, but he does as he’s told. Daichi has a deepseated distaste for people acting out, especially when they drag _him_ into their troublemaking, but he can’t really bring himself to care. The profundity of his relief has an intense physiological component, a sort of adrenal reaction or something, leaving him relaxed and happy and not really concerned what happens now.

“Alright,” says Mori-sensei, “so, presentations. As a reminder, you’ve only got five minutes each, and I _will_ cut you off if you go over. This is intended to be a summary of your lab report, _not_ an in-depth literature review—yes, I’m looking at you, Aoki-kun—so please make an effort to be succinct. Now, do I have any volunteers to—”

Suga’s hand shoots up. He must be riding the same self-induced high as Daichi right now. “Daichi and I can go first, sensei!” he announces, already halfway out of his seat.

“Uh… okay, go ahead,” says Mori-sensei. “Just let me load up your video.”

“Oh, sure, take your time,” says Suga. He glances at Daichi again, grinning (Nakajima, who sits in the row between them, turns around as well, scrutinizing Daichi with the bemused expression of someone who senses she’s missing out on a joke).

“Very generous, Sugawara-kun,” Mori-sensei says dryly, as Daichi and Suga rise from their desks and make their way to the front of the classroom. The projector is already on, displaying Mori-sensei’s slides from the beginning of class; Suga’s efforts to change the input didn’t amount to anything (apparently he doesn’t know how to use the projector any better than Mori-sensei herself), but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter at all. Daichi smiles at Suga. He can’t help it. Suga beams right back.

Mori-sensei opens her desk drawer. She pulls out a USB.

Suga’s smile freezes. The look he gives Daichi announces, in no uncertain terms, _OH FUCK_. He reinforces this by saying, very quietly, "oh fuck," which is quite possibly the first time Daichi has ever heard Suga swear in the full three years of their friendship. Daichi does not respond, mostly because he is too busy feeling like his stomach just got drop-kicked off the top of the Tokyo Skytree. A USB. A USB? A USB… They didn’t even _consider_ the possibility of a USB. When did Mori-sensei load on the video submissions? Was it right at the end of lunch, after Kiyoko had already deleted Suga’s email? Or was it this morning? Maybe even last night?

A list of video files pops up on the projector screen as Mori-sensei plugs in the USB. She’s gone through and named them by student, for organizational purposes. Daichi scans them desperately, praying his name won’t be up there—but there, right near the bottom—Sawamura-Sugawara.mov. _Oh fuck_ is right. He’s screwed. He’s so screwed.

Mori-sensei double-clicks on the file, that very slow, laboured double-click unique to teachers with only a tenuous grasp of technology. Suga is clutching at Daichi, stretching his uniform sideways, his fingers digging into Daichi’s bicep hard enough to bruise. Daichi squeezes his eyes shut—he thought he’d come to terms with this, he thought he’d be okay, but now that he’s here at the front of the class he can’t watch, he absolutely _cannot_ watch—

The classroom is silent, aside from a couple of chairs creaking as some of the other students shift their weight. Someone coughs. A pencil rolls off a desk. Daichi forces himself to crack one eyelid open, which lets him see Suga (Suga’s eyes are also closed, his face pinched like he’s facing a firing squad, awaiting the worst)—and, behind Suga—a blank black screen.

There’s more clicking from Mori-sensei. “Oh, for…” she begins, then lets out an exasperated sigh. “Sugawara-kun, I _specifically_ told you to send me an MP4. I can’t open this.”

Suga’s eyes flutter open. He stares at Mori-sensei, who frowns at him. He stares at the screen, which remains a blessed black void. He stares at Daichi, who stares back, his head buzzing numbly with the blind, feeble relief that comes along with escaping a near-death experience by pure dumb luck. “I sent you the wrong file type…?” Suga says, cautiously, as if he can’t quite believe it, as if he expects Mori-sensei to sound an airhorn and announce that this is all some hilarious practical joke. When Mori-sensei fails to do so, Suga’s grip on Daichi’s arm slackens. “Oh my God… I’m so stupid…” He laughs. “Oh my God, this is amazing! I’m so _stupid!_ ”

“Um… why does he sound so happy about it?” mutters one of their classmates.

In the end, Mori-sensei lets them present their results to the class without showing the video of their experiment. She docks them ten points for “disorganization, failure to read instructions, and generally bizarre behaviour” and lets them off with a warning not to let it happen again. Daichi nods and apologizes profusely, Suga beside him looking so potently earnest and remorseful that even Mori-sensei’s vitriol cools a bit. Then Daichi and Suga assume their seats once more. The presentations continue. Daichi is not subjected to the hellfire of mild public humiliation. Life goes on.

**THE FALLOUT**

“I hate you,” says Asahi, with feeling. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you so much—”

“Nooo, Asahi, don’t say that—”

“I _hate_ you—”

“Asahi, you’re really hurting my feelings right now—”

“Good! You’re evil!”

“ _Asahi_ —”

“This has been the most stressful day of my _life_ , and all because—”

“Asahiiiiiii, come on, don’t be mad—”

“Guys! Cut it out!” Daichi barks. Reluctantly, Asahi stops sprinting around the gym in an effort to outrun Suga while the team is supposed to be doing their warmup; even more reluctantly, Suga stops chasing Asahi and gives up on trying to hug him into submission, although he doesn’t look happy about it. Daichi turns back to Kiyoko, who has a hand pressed over her mouth as she tries not to laugh (Tanaka and Nishinoya have abandoned their stretches in favour of staring at Daichi, consumed by jealous awe).

“It was the wrong file format the whole time? That’s ridiculous,” says Kiyoko.

“I know,” says Daichi, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, I’m sorry we dragged you into this. I really appreciated your help.”

“Oh, no problem,” says Kiyoko. “I’m just glad it worked out. But please, never ask me to do anything like this again.”

**[REDACTED]**

“Daichi, I’m so sorry, I could have sworn the appointment was for next week—do you want me to rebook? I can rebook, it’s no trouble—you know what, I’ll just rebook—”

“I don’t mind,” says Daichi. And he doesn’t, honestly. His siblings drive him nuts, but he loves them (kind of like his team, actually). Besides, it’s just a hair appointment, so Emiko won’t be out long, and she really looks like she could use a break.

He takes the kids to the park so they can burn off some of their energy. He’s a pro at getting them ready to go by now, tugging Yumi’s hat on with one hand while he helps Haru zip up his coat with the other, getting Sosuke to lace Mei’s boots for her—they’re ready to go in under fifteen minutes, which must be some kind of world record. Outside, the streets are chilly and fuzzed with snow again, fluffy white flakes settling on top of the greyish slush leftover from this morning. Mei and Sosuke run ahead, giggling and kicking clouds of snow at each other (“Don’t go too far, guys!” Daichi calls, which they ignore); the twins are restricted to holding Daichi’s hands, due to a history of dashing out into the street at the worst possible moments, which they whine about incessantly until they get to the park and are allowed to run free with Mei and Sosuke.

Daichi watches the four of them racing around, shrieking and shoving and snatching up handfuls of snow to dump down the backs of each other’s coats. The park is bathed a gloomy pre-dusk grey, the shadows swallowing up the playground greedily. They’re the only ones here right now. For his family, this is pretty peaceful.

Mei trips Haru, sending him sprawling; Haru starts to wail; Sosuke snaps, “Haru, you’re _fine_!”; Haru wails louder; Yumi plonks herself down right on Haru’s back, cackling; Haru screams. Daichi sighs and goes to begin the arduous process of calming Haru down before a concerned neighbour calls the police on them.

“Hey, buddy, it’s okay. D’you want a hug?” asks Daichi, but Haru shakes his head vehemently, still howling, and grabs a fistful of Daichi’s jeans in either hand before burying his head between Daichi’s knees. “Uh, okay, or you can do that, I guess…”

While Haru sniffles and oozes various toddler fluids right through Daichi’s pants, Daichi pats Haru absently on the head and watches the snow. He hopes Emiko makes it home from her appointment okay. He hopes Hinata makes it home okay, too. He has another recurring nightmare (distinct from the Kageyama one) about Hinata falling off his bike going down one of the big hills on his way home from school. As Hinata’s friend, he obviously hopes Hinata never falls off his bike. As Hinata’s team captain, though, he just hopes Hinata can wait to wipe out until _after_ nationals are over.

And then, inevitably, he starts thinking about Suga, and in particular, about how they didn’t kiss in the stairwell today. This isn’t unusual, of course. He has so far spent every day of his life not kissing Suga. But when he’s, say, running laps, or washing the dishes, or doing his homework, he isn’t actively aware of the fact that he’s not kissing Suga—whereas when he thinks back to that afternoon in the stairwell, he remembers a sort of tension that gets his heart beating faster even now, a sensation of proximity—and afterward, a distinct sense of _oh, we didn’t kiss_ —

“Daichi! Hey, Daichi!”

Daichi looks around until he spots someone waving at him from across the park. Between the snow and the fading light, all he can make out are two vague, blobby silhouettes, but he’d know that voice anywhere. Suga materializes fully out of the snow a minute later, his brother trailing behind him, both of them bundled in all their winter layers.

“Hello!” says Suga, tugging down his scarf to free his mouth. “Babysitting again? I thought you had the night off.”

“Yeah, Emiko-san mixed up the dates for her hair appointment,” says Daichi. Haru is now hiding behind his leg, suddenly shy, but at least he’s stopped crying. “What are you guys doing out? It’s bad weather.”

“Oh, Kazuo wanted to go for a walk,” Suga says airily. “Besides, I like the snow!”

Daichi glances at Kazuo, or at least at Kazuo’s eyes, which are all that’s visible of him between his hat and his scarf and his big puffy coat. Suga and his brother have identical eyes, which, to be honest, Daichi has always found a little creepy. At the moment, they do not look like the eyes of someone who wants to be out walking in a light blizzard.

“Right,” says Daichi.

“Kazuchan, don’t you want to take Haru to play on the slide?” Suga asks, nudging his brother.

Kazuo shuffles away from him and says, “Uh, _no_. And don’t touch me.”

“Are you _sure_?” Suga says, kicking him in the shins.

“Oh my God, _fine_ ,” says Kazuo. He holds out a hand and says, “Come on, kid. Let’s go down the slide or whatever.”

“Go ahead, Haru,” says Daichi. His little brother gives him a deeply skeptical look, but he takes off for the playground at a toddling sprint while Kazuo trails sulkily behind. The rest of the Sawamuras are a little ways off, Sosuke and Mei diligently at work gathering enough snow to bury Yumi alive. Okay, that seems fine.

“Ah, this is so sweet. Kazuo loves kids,” Suga says fondly, watching his brother hover behind Haru as Haru climbs up the ladder to the slide, clearly nervous about the possibility of Haru slipping and breaking his neck.

“Does he?”

“Mm… no,” says Suga. “He’s going to be really ticked off at me later. But it’s good for him, right? Kiyoko said it herself, girls love that kind of thing—and trust me, Kazuo needs all the help he can get…”

“Right,” says Daichi. He’s been trying not to think too hard about their conversation that afternoon, and then, naturally, thinking hard about it anyway. “Uh—so—about earlier—”

“Earlier?” says Suga.

“You know. At school. When we were talking about—”

“Cyberlaw?” supplies Suga.

“What? No, about—”

“Galileo.”

“ _No_ —Suga—”

“Okay, okay, I know. About the girlfriend stuff, right?” Suga looks away. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have been so pushy. You can date whoever you want, obviously. It’s fine.”

“Right, but…” Daichi clears his throat. He tugs the cuffs of his coat down over his gloves, making pointless, fidgety adjustments, just to give his hands something to do. All things considered, he’s had a miraculous run of good luck today. He feels like pushing it a little further. “What about—what about if I had a boyfriend?”

When he can bring himself to look up again, Suga is staring at him. “I—um, that’s—that’s fine too. Is that…?”

 _Yes_ , thinks Daichi. “Maybe,” he says.

“Right. Okay. A boyfriend. So… um… are you accepting applications for the position? Because if you were, um… I might consider, you know, submitting my résumé…”

“Huh?”

“I’m asking you out,” Suga explains.

“Oh,” says Daichi. His heart is doing something funny again. He’s not sure that being around Suga is good for his cardiac health, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take. “Okay. Yeah. That would be nice.” He frowns. “So… what’s on your résumé?”

“Oh, you know. _Nice hair. Can cook an egg_. Just normal résumé stuff. References available upon request, and all that.”

“References?”

“My mom,” says Suga, grinning. “She says I have _a lovely personality_.”

“Oh,” Daichi says again. “How’d you trick her into thinking that?”

Suga’s fist catches Daichi right in the ribs, cushioned by his winter layers but still powerful enough to knock the wind out of him. “Sawamura Daichi, you’re a dick—I’m withdrawing my application, effective immediately—”

“ _Oof_ —hey, you can’t, you’re already hired—”

“I’m not! I haven’t signed my letter of offer!”

“Your what—?”

Suga grabs the front of Daichi’s coat and pulls him in closer. He leans in, and Daichi leans in, and Daichi closes his eyes, his heart racing, the snowflakes landing on his face melting instantly against the heat of his blush, and—

“Niichaaaaaan!” screams Mei, her voice taking on the worrying wobble that foreshadows the imminent arrival of tears.

“Mei, I barely touched you! Don’t be a baby!” yells Sosuke. “Niichan, I barely touched her— _she_ started it—”

Yumi, clearly concerned about being left out, starts to howl too, and that sets off Haru, accompanied by a horrified exclamation from Kazuo—“Koushiiii, what do I do, he just started crying—”

Daichi sighs. Yes, he loves his family, honestly, he does, but holy shit. “Okay, I’m coming,” he calls. He glances at Suga, who looks like he’s caught between annoyance and amusement. “Can you—?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll help Kazuo,” says Suga. “But they can wait one more second, right?”

Before Daichi has a chance to respond—before Daichi’s family has a chance to devolve further into chaos—Suga pulls him in and kisses him. His mouth is cold. Daichi very much wants to kiss him again.

“Are you guys _kissing?_ ” demands an outraged Sosuke. “On the _mouth?_ That’s so gross! Niichan, what if he has _germs?_ ”

“You’re _what_?” says Kazuo. “Koushi, ew, don’t do that in front of me—you _promised_ —”

“I had my fingers crossed,” Suga calls cheerfully, and, to the general dismay of their younger siblings, he kisses Daichi again.

**THE LEGEND**

“So yeah, that’s basically how we started dating,” says Suga, looking pleased with himself. His knee bumps against Daichi’s where they’re seated cross-legged on the tiled floor of the Tokyo gymnasium, a handful of their Tokyo friends hanging around with them as they wait for the first games of the day to start.

“Aw, that’s so cute! Akaashi, don’t you think that’s so cute?” says Bokuto.

“Very cute, Bokuto-san,” says Akaashi, sounding bored.

“Yeah, super cute,” says Kuroo. “But why didn’t you guys just email your teacher to tell her you’d sent the wrong file in the first place?”

Daichi opens his mouth, then hesitates. He… doesn’t have an answer. Why didn’t they do that…? There has to be a reason, right? He looks at Suga, hoping for some backup, and finds Suga staring blankly back.

“Yeah, Suga, why _didn’t_ you do that?” demands Asahi.

“Well, the thing is,” Suga begins. “Um—the thing is—we _could_ have done that, obviously, but—but we didn’t, because—um—”

“Neither of you even considered it, did you?” says Yaku.

“No,” admits Daichi.

“Wow,” says Kuroo. “You two really are perfect for each other, huh?”

It doesn’t sound like a compliment.

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

>  **epilogue:** daichi hands in a final essay offering theoretical grounds for disproving galileo's equivalence principle, accidentally resolving the incompatibility between general relativity and quantum mechanics that has puzzled physicists for decades, in a desperate effort to save face in front of his physics teacher
> 
> thank you for reading!!! you can follow me [on tumblr](https://huntingthehaggis.tumblr.com/) for more nonsense


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